Travel Light
by Kuro49
Summary: Ryker/Larkin. Roadtrip!fic. Because snark speaks love in volumes, not that they are capable of admitting that either.


Because wotumba1 expressed interest in their roadtrip, and because I am so in love with this pairing (despite being the only one writing for it) I did it. I wrote a sort-of sequel to Seven Days, the only other Ryker/Larkin (which I have dubbed as Rykin) fic in the Chuck fandom. Or you can just read this as the AU where Bryce Larkin and Kieran Ryker are both 'dead' and has took off on a much needed roadtrip.

But really, this is just an excuse to write roadtrip!porn. No really, that's all there is.

XXX

**Travel Light (& seven days later, we'll have the world)**

XXX

They don't have a map spread out across the dashboard or a lucky penchant dangling from the rear-view mirror, swinging back and forth. And even when Bryce has been terribly tempted to tack one on, there are no ugly bumper stickers either.

Instead, they drive along rows and rows of orange trees and expressways, switching lanes and then cars enough times to outrun their pasts and then some more.

Bryce stretches in his seat, arms in the air with light and heat filtering through the sunroof of their latest convertible. And it's a beauty beneath the sun, sleek baby blue and nothing near inconspicuous.

(But that part is fun too.)

"—I don't think you understand the meaning of patriotism."

Bryce lets out a sharp laugh at Kieran's statement, tilting his head to bare the pale length of his neck like a terrible temptation. And in his imagination, it is hard to leave everything behind. In actual practice, it is hard to tell only because he has such a hard time opening his eyes to the bright blue sky above.

The humid heat, unfamiliar against his skin, is a stark reminder that he has never had the chance to stay in one place long enough to know more than a season of an entire year.

Bryce slides his shades back over his eyes and asks.

"This is still all rather Americana, don't you think?"

There is no bite, just sunshine and an endless sky.

000

They drive by roadside markets and stop when Kieran finally catches the stares Bryce has been giving him from behind those shades (as if he can tell.)

Ryker watches from the car as Larkin picks out several organic peaches.

Several miles later, Kieran is leaning against the hood of a different car, a knife in hand as he cuts into the fruit. It is ripe and the juice runs when he cuts a slice of the peach and holds it down to Bryce. He is crouching down on the ground by his knees with a stick tracing lines in the gravel, like a child with a bucket of colour chalk and an expanse of sidewalk.

Larkin blinks at the offer before parting his mouth in obedience. The slice slips from the edge of the blade to disappear between Bryce's lips. He chews with a faint smile, swallows and says. "It's good."

"Just don't say it's better off of you." Kieran is rolling his eyes but he can't quite look away as Bryce swipes a tongue to catch the drop of juice at the edge of his lips either. There is laughter in those blues when he looks up at him from behind those dark shades.

"Even if you don't admit it, it doesn't make it any less the truth." He shrugs with wet lips and they curve into a smile that is more wicked than charming before he adds.

"But no, it tastes better off of you."

And then he runs the flat of his tongue along the trail of sweet juices over Kieran's hand, from wrist to the tip of the thumb that grips the blade, and the sharp silver edge gleams brighter in the sun.

000

Kieran holds out for a total of two weeks and four days before he is stepping out of the bathroom of his motel room to have Bryce wrapping his hand along the line of his jaw, inches from wrapping a hand around his throat.

"Why are you in my room, Larkin?"

There is no pretence, just a quick flash of a smile halfway to innocence before Bryce is dragging a finger to the edge of Kieran's mouth. It is succession of catch and release, and he knows how it works just as well. So, Kieran wraps his lips around that digit and bites in retaliation.

And when Bryce pulls back, lets go, Kieran takes a step forward to wrap a hand around the other man's wrist. Leaning down, he sucks a bruising kiss along the curve of that shoulder, splattered with freckles he is only noticing now. And it's a thing of beauty he has never tried to see in the world before now.

There are no dirty murmurs against the skin, just Bryce letting out a small throaty noise of appreciation before he makes quick work with his gun-calloused fingers and tugs the towel off of Kieran's hips.

And it is two more days before Bryce has them falling into the same bed (in the same room.)

"Economical," he says with a smirk half buried in the pillowcase.

"Well, aren't you a charmer." And without the usual cover of malice and ruthlessness, Kieran's dry reply is almost sweet when he pulls the sheets back over the two of them.

(Even if Bryce has a nasty habit of kicking it to the ground in the middle of the night, even as it stays on the ground well into the morning because they are hardly _cold_ when Bryce moves his hips like that, bottom lip catching between his teeth.)

"And I thought you wanted me for my heart." Kieran adds as he lies down on the bed. And there is a small laugh before he feels Bryce turning to press a yawn into the skin of his back. "Body maybe."

Kieran bats at the hand that tries to fumble for the waistband of his sleeping pants.

000

"New York City."

"Rikers Island."

"It was named after me."

"With an i."

"Couldn't be too blatant about it."

"Not subtle either…" Bryce adds with an eyebrow raised. "What did you do?"

"Classified."

"Hardly acceptable. You've said yes to me for much less."

"It was a mistake on my part."

"Kieran Ryker admitting it as his fault to avoid my questioning? Now you've got me curious." Bryce doesn't give him a warning, not that he ever does, but that is besides the point when Bryce has his arms pinned to the side, his back lying flat against the motel bed.

Ryker doesn't fight him, doesn't buck the man straddling him off because _why would he_ is a better question to it all.

Bryce doesn't do a lot of things he can do to interrogate an answer out of him. (Not that Kieran doesn't know just as many ways to counter that and more) but it isn't like his other more creative methods are any less effective.

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip with a contemplative hum that has proven to be all sorts of fun when Kieran is watching. He licks and release before his smirk is back in full. And the way his light eyes glitter already has Ryker groaning.

"Spill."

And grinds down on the body beneath his.

000

They head as far East as a car can take them.

Pressing onto the gas pedal with no real urge, they can't tell you what they are chasing or if there is even something worthwhile at the end of this journey song. They probably don't know it themselves. But it isn't something they can stop because when _don't_ they love it when the world plans to go to hell.

(It is only with a sick sort of satisfaction that keeps them on the road.)

They fight though.

And as men with violence as second nature, there is never force involved even when their fingers are itching to pull at the trigger to defend their own reasons against the rest. There is a certain innocence in the here and now that they refuse to give up, (to ruin because they have too little sense to compromise.)

Instead, they sulk, or they sulk to the extent of two grown men trapped in the same vehicle for six hours on end.

And when they pull up to another motel for the night, Kieran gets them a room, two beds and sits back against a peeling lawn chair at the edge of the property as Bryce lights up fireworks in the dark to remind them of gunfire.

He breathes in the smoke and tugs the other man into his lap. Bryce bows to rest his forehead in the crook of his neck and they stay like that until the air cools to a chill and the tension has finally seeped away from the lines of their shoulders.

In the morning they wake up in the same bed and make their way to the dingy diner across the street for breakfast. And it is a simple matter of Bryce tossing their bags into the backseat and Kieran checking them out of the room.

"I can drive."

He walks out to the car with Larkin sitting in the driver's seat, sipping milkshake in those shades. Ryker gestures him to move over and when that doesn't work, he frowns a little deeper and leans in.

"Finish your drink first."

Bryce rolls his eyes and drags a hand from the steering wheel to the back of Kieran's neck.

"I want a double bed tonight."

His tongue chases vanilla. And it is an all-consuming sweetness when he finally feels it melt between their opened mouths. It is a version of sorry they don't know how to say, it is also their way of stating that there's nothing to forgive, they're still alive.

Bryce grins when he pulls back and takes the straw of his milkshake between his lips again.

XXX Kuro

And if it isn't obvious, I'm not even American.


End file.
